


Gray

by MerlynBane



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Author's Relationship With Canon Is Dubious At Best, Bounty Hunters That Are Surprisingly Soft, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no beta we die like stormtroopers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-27 00:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30114648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlynBane/pseuds/MerlynBane
Summary: A Mandalorian, a force-sensitive gremlin child, seven bounty pucks, and Cara Dune's ex-Rebellion special forces ex-girlfriend. What could go wrong?Or,The one where Din Djarin meets his best friend's ex-girlfriend when she helps them raid an Imperial remnant and there are some unexpected developments when she offers to travel with him as an extra set of hands.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> POV will switch chapter-to-chapter! First one is from our main man Mando's POV.

It isn't often that Din takes jobs on Nevarro, and he isn't particularly looking forward to this one.

The Imps had been mostly run off the planet by now since he had helped Cara and Karga eliminate the last remaining outpost on the planet as part of their efforts to make the place respectable--or at least respectable enough to bring trade in. Din is under no illusions that Nevarro will ever be a peaceful tourist destination--not under Greef Karga, and not as long as their biggest export is in bounties. Remnants still find themselves on Nevarro from time to time, though, either unaware of the planet's now unwelcoming stance on Imperials or cocky enough not to be deterred by it. They're usually in small enough groups for the Marshal to handle it herself--he still kind of can't believe that Cara had taken the job--but recently, an officer with a sizable detachment had decided to take up refuge on the planet in hopes that he was far enough away from the main city to not be detected, and when Din came along to try and collect on the bounties he currently had sitting in the Crest, Karga had asked for his help again. 

He really didn't want to get involved, it was inevitably going to get messy and yet another big conflict was the last thing he was looking for, but he really couldn't say no. Cara had become the closest thing he had to a friend (and perhaps Karga too, in a way, even if he would never admit it to himself or anyone else), and it had become personal with the Empire. He didn't care for the Republic either, and he had spent a lot of time intentionally staying out of that conflict, but the Imperials had taken far too much from him for him not to take opportunities to hit them back when they presented themselves. 

So here he is, leaning against the wall in Cara's office while they worked on hashing out a plan. He isn't thrilled about the way the odds are starting to look with just the three of them, especially with only two of them actually being experienced fighters, and he's about to voice those concerns when Cara turns her gaze over to him and continues speaking as if he hasn't totally missed most of what she just said.

"--And I know you don't like working with strangers, Mando, but I have a contact that's currently on planet that would be...helpful."

Din narrows his eyes at her dubiously despite knowing she can't see it under the helmet, tilting his head at the less than reassuring inflection in her tone. They do need another set of hands, though, so he supposes that he'll have to hear her out. "Tell me."

* * *

"No."

"Mando."

Cara's giving him that face that usually means she wants him to have a little bit of faith in her, but they've arrived at the cantina now to meet this 'contact' of hers only to find the woman in question locked in a bar fight with three rather large individuals that he recognizes as lower-ranking Guild members and he's already far too tired for this as Karga makes his way forward to try and break it up.

"Well," the Marshal says finally, "you could always look at it as a sort of audition, I suppose."

Din tears his eyes from the commotion then to give Cara a skeptical look, blinking behind the helmet. She must have some idea of the expression on his face because she shrugs in turn as if to say _What can you do?_ and Din is suddenly very interested in hearing how she came to know this contact, because she did not seem as surprised as he'd have liked at the scene they walked in on. 

"I was hoping for more of a subtle entrance," he replies flatly.

Cara doesn't get a chance to respond before Karga is walking back over to him with you at his side without even the grace to look sheepish, a grin tugging at the edge of your blood-smeared mouth that threatens to send his thoughts south before he can catch himself. There's another cut above your eyebrow that you also seem to be steadfastly ignoring as you come to stand in front of them, winking at Cara--to which she rolls her eyes--before your gaze shifts to him, and takes its sweet time sweeping up and down as you take him in. A lesser man probably would have squirmed underneath it, but he's had more than his fair share of practice maintaining the blank facade that seems to have you so interested. Your eyes dart over to his companion again when she speaks.

"So what was that all about?"

You shrug, glancing over your shoulder at the mess you'd made as your grin only widens minutely. "One of them got a little handsy," you tell them simply. "Only _man_ in this galaxy that's allowed to grab my ass without express permission is Han Solo."

Din blinks again. 

Cara snorts next to him and shakes her head before gesturing over to a nearby table, "Shall we?" She's already moving toward it before any of them get a chance to respond with an affirmative but they all follow her anyway, settling down on either side of the table. You end up directly across from Din, and he's not wholly certain how he feels about that. "Mando, this is Gray; Gray, this is Mando. Gray and I served together in the Rebellion." 

That is...not what he was expecting her to say, but it does start to make sense as he thinks about it. His initial assumption admittedly was that you were some sort of smuggler or mercenary--usually a pretty safe guess of anyone found on this planet, in fairness--but now that he's really looking, the squared set of your shoulders and the consistent, direct eye contact that you're maintaining are all soldier. Your posture also gives you away--even in the booth, you're sitting up straight, not slouching. He also knows full well without having to be told that Gray is as much your real name as Mando is his. It's a codename, likely from your time in the Rebellion. 

It suits you.

He knows that you notice him looking but you choose not to call him on it. Cara's still talking next to him, though, so he forces himself to pay attention.

This is important.

"--was a Pathfinder, she worked in Special Ops."

You take over then, and Din gets the impression that that may be the extent of Cara's actual knowledge of your activities within the Rebellion, which implies that it must have been pretty highly classified. Interesting. "I was in a...Ghost unit." Your voice is measured now, more serious. He notices that the grin has dropped off your face, replaced with what he would almost call a grimace. "Everyone ends up having to do some pretty nasty shit in war, the Republic was just better about not getting caught doing it." You continue on before anyone gets a chance to comment, and Din gets the sense that you're used to receiving either shock or sympathy when you talk about your background, neither of which you want, and he gets it. "I'm very good at getting into places I'm not supposed to be and not leaving them standing when I'm done."

He supposes that's probably a gross oversimplification of your skill set, but it gets the point across. "Dune filled you in?" he asks you then, pretending he doesn't see Cara smirking next to him at the indication that he's caved on bringing you along. He rolls his eyes, thankful yet again that he can do so without his companions knowing about it under the guise of the helmet. Sometimes, it has. Benefits. 

You give a sharp nod in response, and he finds that once again without really seeming to try, you've gained his undivided attention. "I'm willing to help out," you said finally, and he can already hear the _but_ before you actually voice it. You turn to look at Karga, the eyebrow you'd split in the fight raising as you do. "I want in the Guild, and not bottom-level. I've done my research, our target would more than warrant that if I were to bring him in on my own."

Karga pretends to think about it, but Din already knows he's going to agree to your terms. They're ballsy, he'll give you that, but they aren't unreasonable. This isn't a low-level Imp they're going after. He wonders idly what's in the Guild for you but he knows better than to ask. More than likely you wouldn't tell him if he did, and everyone has their reasons for picking up bounty hunting. There's a lot of ex-soldiers in the Guild after all, given how few other careers lend themselves to those skill sets. "I think we can reach an arrangement," the man says finally, and Din watches as you nod again before settling back in your seat. 

"So. What's the plan?"

* * *

The plan, as it turns out, is that there isn't much of one. Oddly enough, this is Din's least favorite kind of plan. 

You, however, appear to be thriving.

The Imps are holed up in what looks like it used to be an outpost for the Imperial base he had helped them destroy, and the compound looks about as abandoned and desolate as you'd expect save for the updated security they seemed to have found the time to install. They hadn't been expecting it and Din was honestly surprised that he wasn't more concerned about the development. Cara hadn't been wrong when she said he didn't like working with strangers--he very much did not--but he's having a hard time not trusting in your competence at least already and he's not really sure why. Regardless, he doesn't have time to dwell on it. All he knows is that you seem totally unfazed by the amped-up security.

They manage to park the speeder behind a rocky outcrop about a hundred meters from the front door without being spotted and Din watches as you dismount the craft to peer over the outcrop to take stock of what you're up against before he finds himself joining you. You don't look up from your binoculars as he settles down next to you in a crouch, calling out what you're able to see to the rest of them. He can see just as well as you can with his helmet's magnification feature, but he doesn't tell you that. "Two troopers patrolling the battlements. If I can get in range without tipping them off I can take them out with the rifle before they get a chance to alert the others. The door won't be a problem, I've gotten through worse."

He considers this for a beat, watching the Imps you had called out on the roof. Cara has also gotten off the speeder by this point, kneeling on your other side. Din notices that she's closer to you than she really needs to be, scant centimeters between her shoulder and hers, but he files that observation away for later and keeps it to himself. "If you can create a small enough diversion to get their attention without alerting them, I can take them out from above."

You give him a brisk nod in return, turning back to face the group and settling back on your haunches as Karga joins you. "Most of these outposts have similar layouts," you tell them, grabbing a stick that you find sitting near your foot to illustrate your points in the sand. "There will be a turbolift within ten meters of the entrance, the three of us will take it up to meet you at the top. Most of the important stuff is going to be housed in the upper levels, so the bulk of the patrolling troopers are going to be there too. I'd be willing to wager that we'll find the guy running this operation on the uppermost level since they'll be expecting any attacks to come from the ground floor. Expect them to be on their guard--if they're hiding this far out, they know they're not welcome here."

"Intel says there's at least two squads' worth of troopers," Cara adds, and Din watches the way your mouth twists in displeasure. 

"Expect a platoon, maybe more." comes your flat response, and then you're reaching for a nearby rock. You bounce it once, twice, in your palm, getting a feel for the weight before your eyes are flickering up to meet his again. "I'm going to throw rocks at the cliff face. They'll brush it off as wildlife or the wind but it should at least get their attention long enough for you to get airborne."

Din nods and watches as you haul your arm back and _launch_ the rock in your palm at the cliff wall opposite of your position. Later he'll devote more thought to the strength in that throw than he'll admit, but after you get a few more off and a glance at the Imps patrolling the battlements confirms that their attention has been successfully diverted, he takes off. 

Your plan works; the Imps don't even see him coming before he's put a blaster bolt into the back of both of their helmets. He realizes, perhaps somewhat belatedly, that he doesn't really have a way to signal down to you, but it occurs to him a beat later that you must have known that, accounted for it. Are you used to operating like this? No lines of communication, just blind faith that the members of your team will be where you need them to be, when you need them to be there? 

Din had just decided to wait a moment, make sure that taking out the troopers on the roof hadn't alerted the rest of the detachment, when he hears a massive _Boom_ and feels the building shudder beneath his feet. He darts to the edge of the parapet to see smoke below him where the main door had used to be. _Dank Ferrick_ , he thinks, _you could've fucking said you were planning on_ blowing _your way in_. All of the stormtroopers are going to be heading right for you now. 

...away from the uppermost level, where their main target is. Not far from where Din is now. 

_When you get out of this_ , he decides, _you're going have a discussion about your communication skills._

The Mandalorian is silent as he slips in through the roof access door, letting it close all the way behind him--making sure no-one would be able to get back in through it from the outside, just on the off chance that any of the troopers are smart enough to try and flank him from that entrance later. As he expects after the explosion, all of the troopers he does see are running to the lower levels to investigate and eliminate the threat. He drops as many as he can without giving himself away, trying to cut down on the number that your group would have to deal with. 

He slips down a corridor that he hears voices from, keeping his back to the wall with blaster held out in front of him as he slows his pace. There's a wide set of doors at the end of the hallway with two troopers posted in front of it that haven't noticed him yet, and he knows this must be where the Imperial officer is hiding. He decides to get in as close as he can before he makes his move, knowing that if he shoots them now the sound of their helmets hitting the floor will tip off the room's occupants and that's something he wants to avoid. It's only because they aren't paying attention, talking amongst themselves, that he manages to get within arm's reach before they notice him, and he's able to stab one and snap the other's neck before they can sound the alarm. He lowers them to the ground without making a sound and hits the button to open the door.

There are three more stormtroopers in the room but he's ready for it, and only one of them manages to get a shot off--easy deflected by the beskar protecting his chest--before he's shot down all three of them. The officer goes to stand but immediately stops when Din trains his blaster on him, and Din will at least give him some credit--the man looked ready to piss himself, so he's just a little impressed that he made an attempt to face him on his feet at all. "Get up, hands where I can see them," He barks at the man. "Slowly."

The man starts to follow his directions, getting to his feet, before they hear footsteps approaching from the hallway and he stops, a slow smirk forming on his face. Din doesn't rise to it. He knows that it's most likely you and the others, so he tilts his head in the way most people find intimidating and gestures with his blaster for the man to get his hands up. Sure enough, seconds later he sees you and Cara out of the corner of his eye and the Imp's smirk drops when he realizes that backup isn't coming. 

Din tosses you a set of cuffs from his belt and you catch them effortlessly, approaching the target with a blank, unreadable expression. He sees it a second before it happens when the man goes to grab you--clearly in a bid to use you as a bargaining chip or human shield--but you're a step ahead of him yourself and before he can find purchase, you've ducked out of the way and harshly kicked his knee out from underneath him. The Imp collapses to the ground in a heap with a heavy _thunk_ and a groan and you follow him down, sticking your knee right in the center of his back as you wrench his arms behind his back and secure the cuffs tightly around his wrists. 

Din swallows, and pretends that he hasn't suddenly started sweating under the helmet. 

You stand back up and he notices the bag over your shoulder. You seem to notice him looking at it because you're suddenly smirking at him. "We found the armory," you tell him, in a tone that almost makes him nervous enough to pull him out of his brief arousal. _What had you found_ in _the armory?_

Suddenly, he remembers your words from the cantina, when you told him what your skill set was.

 _I'm really good at getting into places I'm not supposed to be and not leaving them standing when I'm done_.

"Gray," he asks slowly, "Are those explosives?"

You don't need to answer. He knows.

* * *

You do, in fact, blow the place up. 

And once again, Cara Dune is not as surprised as he wants her to be.

You're all at the cantina again, an hour or so later. This time, you're across the table from Cara, and he's steadfastly ignoring the way his friend is leaning forward on her elbows in your direction. He's pretty sure if he looked, too, that her feet would be centimeters from nudging your own under the table. He isn't sure why it's bothering him--he's known who you are for approximately eight hours, after all--but he's having a difficult time swallowing the question of _how exactly_ she knows you. There's a very specific familiarity there that tells him that there's more to your shared past than Cara had let on and he knows it's none of his business, he _knows_ , but that doesn't mean he wants to know any less. 

You're not even really paying attention to her at the moment, you're locked in conversation with Karga across from him discussing what the specifics of your Guild membership are going to be. Karga is trying to lowball you--mostly out of habit, Din thinks, because Karga tries to lowball everyone--but you're just staring him down with one eyebrow raised just a little bit and letting him finish his offers before countering them. "I want three pucks per trip. Mid-range to start." you tell him calmly, folding your arms over your chest. "Anything less and I would barely be breaking even on fuel."

Karga sighs dramatically like you've wounded him but you don't budge, and Din knows that you're about to get your way. "Alright," he concedes. "But, I want you to have a drink with me."

"One shot. Your treat."

Karga chuckles, and Din knows that the leader of the guild already likes you. _He_ doesn't particularly like it, but it will serve you well. "Deal. One shot, my treat." he agrees, and gestures over at one of the service droids to bring over the spotchka. He takes three from the tray--an additional one for Cara, knowing without asking that Din was the only one at the table who didn't want one--and sets them down in front of each of you. You pick yours up, smirking at each of the three of them in turn before you knock it back, and Din does his best not to focus too hard on the way your lips wrap around the glass or the way your throat bobs as you swallow it down.

 _Fuck_ , why are you getting under his skin so badly?

A Guild member that Din only sort of recognizes brings Karga the bag he keeps his pucks in and leaves again once he receives a nod of acknowledgement, and both of you watch as the man digs through it, periodically picking one up and considering it before returning it to the bag. "Mando, I'm assuming you're still content with our arrangement?" he questions as a formality, looking up to see the Mandalorian nod his affirmative. Din thinks the rates have been poor the last cycle or two but he knows that Karga doesn't actually set them, merely divvies them out by tier. Eventually the man has seven pucks pulled out of the bag, three for you and four for Din, and he sets them down in front of each of you respectively. "These are the best I have at this time for your tiers," Karga tells him, and he believes him. This time.

You take the time to inspect yours before you hum and nod, slipping them into the bag you'd stolen from the Imperial outpost. Karga stands up then and Cara gestures for Din to let her out of the booth as well, stretching once she's on her feet. You're still sitting, and Din sort of just stands next to the table, more unsure of what he wants to do than he'd like. Are you waiting for him to sit back down and join you?

A glance up at him tells him that you are so he moves to sit down in the booth again, this time directly across from you. "Well, I think it's time for us to retire," Karga announces, giving the two of you a broad grin. You nod your acknowledgement and the two of them leave, Cara squeezing your shoulder briefly on her way out, and Din finds himself alone with you.

"So where are you off to after this?"

He's not expecting the question, so it takes him a few minutes to formulate a response. Truthfully, he hasn't thought much further ahead than the next hour or so. "I've got to pick up the kid," he says finally, unsure why he trusts you with any knowledge of his foundling but knowing that he does. "Dropped him off at the school in town this morning before we left. Womp-rat's probably caused enough trouble today as it is."

Both of your eyebrows go up at the mention of the kid, and he gives you a moment to process your surprise. He's used to people being shocked to find out that he has any association with a young one, and he's self-aware enough not to blame them for it. "You. Have a kid?"

"A foundling," he clarifies, and he can see the gears turning in your head. "I'm. Responsible for him until I can find his own kind. Per Creed."

You don't ask him what that means, and to be honest, he's appreciative. He hasn't known you long but you don't seem given to prying, letting him offer up what he chooses to. If more people did that, he supposes, he might be more willing to share. "It sounds like a lot for one person," you say finally, and he's curious where you're going with it. "Bounty hunting, raising a kid. I'm assuming you probably do your own maintenance on your ship."

"I manage."

"I'm sure you do." You're smirking at him now, and he feels his face heat under the helmet. There was nothing...suggestive about your words, per se, but there's something in the way you're looking at him that tells him they were intended to be. _Maker, are you flirting with him?_ "It does sound like you could use an extra set of hands, though. Y'know, around. I know my way around a pilot's chair and I'm a pretty decent mechanic, too. You tend to pick things up when you work in a Ghost unit and have to fend for yourself."

"How are you with young ones?" He doesn't know why he asks, because he has an idea, but you snort, and he knows you took it as the playful jab it was.

"I'm a quick learner."

He had to be, too, so he can't fault you that one. He hadn't spent longer than five minutes in the presence of a child since he _was_ one prior to taking on the kid, and he still doesn't feel like he knows what he's doing the majority of the time. 

Truth be told he's not sure why he's even considering your offer, he certainly wouldn't from anybody else, but you're not wrong. He could use some help, and, well...he trusts you. 

"I'll contribute to costs, too. Fuel, supplies. I won't be making as much as you but I'll pay my own way."

He reaches his hand across the table, and you shake on it.

The Razor Crest has a new crew member.


	2. Part II

There's only one 'fresher on the ship.

Somehow, you've managed to be on the _Crest_ for a couple days before this becomes an issue, but _Maker_ , you just got up and you have to _go_ , and Mando is still in the shower. You'd heard the water running when you came down the ladder from the cockpit this morning but you hadn't thought much of it because you had assumed he wasn't going to take long. It's entirely possible that he still hasn't, because time seems to be dragging for you at the moment anyway, but you really, really need him to hurry the hell up.

You're so distracted that you manage to miss the water cutting off, and it's the sound of the 'fresher door being wrought open that gets your attention. And, okay, maybe you're standing closer to it than you'd realized, because suddenly Mando is right there.

_Right there._

If you move at all in any direction except backwards, you'll be touching him.

And, _Maker_ , he is not _clothed_.

He's staring at you through that visor, clearly as shocked as you are, but you. Don't notice. You're too busy staring directly ahead of you where his collarbone-- _his bare collarbone_ \--is right at eye-level. Trying desperately not to look down at what you can just see in your peripheral. _He's only wearing a towel, he's only wearing a towel,_ **_he's only wearing a towel_** _\--_

The 'fresher door shuts again with more force than necessary, and you think you might actually pass out. 

* * *

You can't look at him.

You are. No virgin. But you're certainly starting to feel like one. Your face has been boiling hot since this morning, and it makes you even more mortified, because you know he knows it. There's no way that helmet doesn't have a thermal sensor. 

You've seen your share of naked people. More than, according to some. Men and women, both and neither. You hadn't even really seen anything _vital_ this morning, because he had at least been wearing a towel. But _Stars_ , there's something _different_ about seeing _Mando_ that way.

And you can't even look at him right now, because you get violent flashbacks every time you do and it's _not_ helping your efforts to get your fucking shit back together. You're embarrassed, sure, but your face isn't the only thing that's heated.

Mando, for his part, seems to just be content letting you stew in it. The Mandalorian hadn't said anything when he did eventually exit the 'fresher, thankfully dressed this time--he'd just carefully sidestepped you and went on about his morning routine, the only thing giving away that anything had happened this morning at all the way that he pointedly isn't looking at you, either. There's a charged tension in the air between the two of you that you're both pretending you don't notice, and the only one who seems to be having a good time this morning is the kid. Grogu.

Who is...not what you'd expected. Little, green, with the biggest ears you think you've ever seen on a lifeform his size. He's almost unbearably cute with his giant dark eyes and grabby little hands, and he almost makes you forget why you've historically not spent a lot of time around kids. Almost. As cute as he is, he's also a _menace_ \--as you discovered your first night on board, when he became overtired and decided that you were his new favorite person and _not_ allowed to put him down. It had led to a very long night for you and the Mandalorian both.

The little green monster is in your lap now, his little hands grasped firmly around the fabric of your tunic as he makes these excited cooing noises periodically that make your heart grow three sizes without your consent. You're trying to feed him his breakfast--or, perhaps more accurately, doing your best to make him slow down enough eating his breakfast that he doesn't choke on it. It is...unsettling how eagerly carnivorous the Mandalorian's weird little son is. 

"We'll be touching down on Arkanis soon," Mando tells you, and the sudden break in the silence almost makes you flinch. You force yourself to look up at him as he continues speaking, trying to ignore the image of his bare torso that comes roaring to the forefront of your mind. _Maker, get ahold of yourself_. "I'll be gone for a few days, maybe less. I need you to stay on the ship with the kid." 

Right. With the kid. Like you had more or less offered. An extra set of hands, right? You plaster a smile on your face in the hopes that it'll disguise the panic in your eyes. If you're reading the tilt of his helmet correctly, it does not. 

"You'll be fine." he tells you almost without inflection, and if it were anyone else, it would sound sarcastic, patronizing. But you know, somehow, that he means it. "Do you remember where everything is?"

You nod. It's a small ship--there hadn't been much to memorize. Din's visor stays focused on you even as he absently strokes the youngling in your lap's ear and you hide a smile at the sight, knowing the bounty hunter probably wouldn't appreciate how sweet you find his almost unknowing affection for his foundling. You would never have pegged him for the fatherly type when you met but the longer you spend around the two of them, the more natural he seems with him. 

Mando isn't what you had expected either, when you signed up for this. Truth be told you really don't know what you'd had in mind, but he manages to catch you off guard anyway. The duality of him. 

He takes up _so much space_ in the admittedly small craft, not leaving you any choice but to notice how fucking _broad_ his shoulders are. It both intimidates and arouses you in equal measure, affecting your lung function in ways you're not prepared to admit. He's also _quiet_ \--he hadn't spoken all that much when you first met him, admittedly, but it's more noticeable when you're alone and not preoccupied destroying an Imperial remnant. 

It's been a very long time since you've lived with other people, but it's painfully obvious how unused the Mandalorian is to cohabitating with anyone besides his kid. There are still times where he seems vaguely surprised to see you--not that you can really tell with the bucket on his head. And then there was the _situation_ this morning. 

It's these moments that have you considering that perhaps you had rushed into this arrangement.

But then...he's nice to you. Or maybe considerate is a better word. You don't know. You woke up the morning before wrapped in a blanket you definitely hadn't fallen asleep in. When the kid was being fussy a couple nights ago while you were trying to prep your dinner, Din had taken him from you without a word, merely nodding in your direction as he started bouncing the youngling idly and carried him to the other side of the hull to give you what peace he could while you ate. When he sits down to clean his blaster, you often find later that he's cleaned yours, too. You have a hard time articulating how much you appreciate those things, because you truly can't remember the last time you were taken care of by another person in that way, especially someone with absolutely no obligation to do so.

Mando's voice pulls you out of your thoughts again and you try to force yourself to pay attention, shaking your head lightly to clear it. "I'm going to get us prepped for landing. Is there anything else you need before we touch down?" He waits until you shake your head to turn around and head up to the cockpit and you find yourself watching him as he walks away, idly wondering despite yourself if his backside is as nice as his front. 

* * *

It takes a little over twenty-four hours for the insanity to truly set in. 

Your first full day on the ship by yourself basically just consists of you and the child working to establish a routine without his father around. You still aren't totally up to speed on Grogu's nap and snack times, nor do you really have the hang of communicating with him yet. You know that his little noises mean something, but for the life of you, you don't know what yet. And bless him, he's been remarkably patient with you for a toddler, but you get the sense that you aren't the only one hoping the Mandalorian's hunt wraps up early.

You _know_ he needs a nap. He's been fighting sleep going on an hour now, and his mood is starting to deteriorate with it. You're attempting to soothe him as best you know how--operating off of instincts you're really not even sure you have--bouncing him steadily in your arms and trying to humm loud enough to at least distract him from the constant _pitter-patter_ of rain against the metal hull of the _Crest_. Arkanis is a _wet_ planet; it's been pouring since you'd landed and though it's your first time on this world, you won't be endeavoring to return to it anytime soon. It had rained plenty on Alderaan while you were growing up, but never like this. The droplets hitting the durasteel are slowly driving you crazy, and you know the kid isn't faring much better. 

"C'mon, honey," you murmur, and your own eyes are starting to feel a little heavy. "You need to rest. I know you want to, I can see you fighting it."

Grogu gurgles in a way that does not sound like an affirmative, and you bite down a bone-deep groan. You know you should probably rest yourself, but you're definitely fighting it too. You know what'll be waiting for you if you go to sleep. Realistically, once you're able to get the kid to give into how tired he is, all you're going to do is go back to where you'd been working on the wiring in the console in the cockpit. 

And like, look. Your own mechanic skills are rudimentary and improvised at best, you _know_ that, but the wiring on this ship from what you've seen looks like the womp-rat in your arms could have done it. It gets the job done, clearly, given the lack of issues you had in getting here, but _Maker_ , you would hate to have to get in there to make repairs if something were to actually break. 

"Are you just being difficult because your dad isn't here, or can you actually not sleep?" You ask him tiredly and sigh when you only get another gurgle in response. You give up on him falling asleep on his own and look around for somewhere to settle down with him. You don't want to take him up to the cockpit, because those chairs aren't really comfortable to lounge in when it's just you, let alone you and the kid. Your eyes catch on the hatch where you know Mando's cot is but you hesitate because, well, it's _Mando's bed_. It would be super inappropriate, and…and you don't want to think about the other reason it would be a bad idea. 

But...you don't have any better ones. 

You groan quietly before you pad over to the hatch and slide it open, pretending that the smell of the Mandalorian doesn't immediately assault your nose as you carefully maneuver into the space without jostling Grogu too much. It's tight, but you manage to find a comfortable position leaning against one of the corners with the youngling resting on your chest. It takes a few minutes but he finally settles down and falls asleep, and you find yourself following suit despite yourself not long after. 

It ends up being one of the best sleeps you've had in a good while, and by the time you wake up, you're groggy and more than a little disoriented. It takes you a few minutes to fully come around and realize where you are, and you swallow harshly once you do. The kid is still out cold so you carefully shift upwards so you can place him in his little blanket hammock, smiling down at him for a second before you climb out of the glorified cubby and stretch, wincing at the small _pop_ that comes from your lower back. It's hard to track the passage of time from inside the hull of the ship since the only windows are those in the cockpit, so you're truly unsure how long it's been now. 

You decide to head back to the cockpit to take another look at the console wiring in lieu of anything better to do, yawning softly into your palm as you pad over to the ladder and climb up. You think you might kill for a radio or something as you set to work--it's too quiet, especially while the kid's asleep. You'd even settle for something small, hand-held--as long as it played music. Maybe you'll see about finding a market on the next planet you stop on.

Wiring work manages to simultaneously require all of your focus and none of it, and it soothes you. Your unit in the Rebellion had had to do most of your own maintenance on the equipment you were given and you hated electronics less than the others, so it often fell to you to make those repairs when they were needed. You hadn't done a lot of it since then, so you'd forgotten how soothing it could be. You're not even really _fixing_ anything, mostly reorganizing the wires and grouping them into orderly bundles with ties that you had managed to find while tidying up earlier. 

Truth be told, you weren't even sure if Mando was going to appreciate your efforts here. You had listed mechanics as one of your skills when lobbying him to bring you along, sure, but that didn't mean he was going to appreciate you getting into his control panel and moving shit around. At least you'll be able to throw the increased performance in his face later if he does try to get after you about it. It's not like there's much else for you to do, after all. You're not used to having idle time on your hands--you need to keep busy, it's how you function, keep your brain from running away with you. Even between missions back in the day, you'd always had to find something else to work on. 

It had definitely put a strain on your past relationships.

It's just gone past dawn--near as you can tell, anyway, with Arkanis's perpetually overcast skies--when you hear the ramp lower to the hull, and you know it's Mando back from his hunt. You listen to him moving around underneath you, hear the hiss of the carbonite chamber as it freezes his quarry and the opening of the small hatch where the child sleeps when he goes to check on him next. You're nearing done on your project, and you're bolting the panels back into place by the time the Mandalorian joins you in the cockpit. He leans against the frame and watches you work for a few moments before he speaks to announce himself, but you can sense him there.

"Told you you'd be fine," comes his measured voice from inside the helmet, and you snort likely as you stand and wipe your hands off on your trousers. He stays where he is when you turn to look at him, tilting his head just a little bit like he always seems to do. He looks just the same as when he left a couple days ago, and you're glad this bounty didn't give him too much trouble.

"You did," you cede, and follow his gaze when the helmet shifts toward where you had been working on the control panel. He doesn't say anything, but you answer the question regardless. "The wiring was...messy. I was just tidying it up a little."

"Are you saying my wiring is bad?"

Is he...baiting you?

You still can't see the face he's making at you under the helmet, but _Maker_ , somehow you know anyway. You _know_ he's smirking at you, waiting to see you get flustered and backpedal. You narrow your eyes back at him, and decide not to give him the satisfaction. _Bastard_.

You shug lightly instead, chewing on your lower lip. "It could use some improvement."

He's still staring at you, and it's a fight not to squirm underneath it even though you know damn well he's teasing you. There's something about the blank, unyielding stare of the visor that fogs your brain and sends a bolt of heat through you, and somehow, you get the impression that he knows that, too. 

The Mandalorian chooses not to grace you with an answer, instead stepping forward toward the pilot's chair. "Well if you're done," he says wryly, "I'll put in the coordinates for Corellia, and we can be on our way."

Your nose wrinkles at that, making a face at him. "I hate Corellia."

"When good bounties become available on more pleasant planets," Mando scoffs, "you let me know."'

* * *

It's late.

You've been in hyperspace for hours now, long enough for Grogu to have woken up and long since gone back to bed, this time his father with him. And, Stars, of course he had gone right to sleep for Mando like a perfectly idyllic little baby instead of the overtired gremlin he'd been earlier for you. Brat.

You. Can't sleep. 

Can't, and won't. You're sitting in the cockpit by yourself, lounging in the pilot's chair with a half-empty glass of spotchka in one hand while you watch the stars tumble by overhead. This has become something of a routine for you, indulging in the peaceful quiet of hyperspace and alcohol while you hide from the nightmares. With consistency, unconsciousness either evades you completely or holds you captive in the prison of your own memories. Tonight it's the later, but you know you only have hours before you have no choice but to give in.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear the door suddenly open behind you, only relaxing when you catch the bright glint of beskar out of the corner of your eye. The Mandalorian lowers himself into one of the other chairs just behind and to the right of you, leaning back until his helmet rests against the back wall of the cockpit. "Can't sleep?" he asks you, and it almost manages to be one of the gentlest things he's said to you despite his voice still being coarse from what sleep he had gotten before he joined you up here. 

You swivel the chair around slowly until you're mostly facing him, planting your feet to hold it in position as you shrug a little bit. You're quiet for a couple of beats before you manage to give him an answer, your own voice low enough that you're not sure he would have been able to hear you without the sound magnification of his helmet. "No worse than usual," you decide to tell him honestly, taking a slow sip of the drink in your hand and taking a moment to feel it burn down the back of your throat. You hardly drink in the daytime these days, not anymore, but you almost always end up having a glass or two at night before bed.

Mando doesn't say anything in response, but you know he heard you, and you get the sense that it's an intentional sort of quiet. He's...providing you with company, sitting with you in companionable silence so that you're not alone, even though he should probably be resting after his hunt. It's...incredibly thoughtful of him, and as much as it surprises you, you find that it also somehow doesn't. He's got a fearsome reputation, sure, and you know he would deny this if you ever pointed it out to him, but it's become abundantly clear to you already that taking care of the people around him to the best of his ability is just what the Mandalorian _does_. 

And you know you made the right decision.


End file.
